This story is suitable for children
age 6 to 8 approx.
The Ice King.(Indian legend)by
Eleanor L. Skinner
Start of Story
Once upon a time there was an Indian village built on
the bank of a wide river. During the spring, summer,
and autumn the people were very happy. There was
plenty of fuel and game in the deep woods; the river
afforded excellent fish. But the Indians dreaded the
months when the Ice King reigned. One winter the
weather was terribly cold and the people suffered
severely. The Ice King called forth the keen wind from
the northern sky, and piled the snowdrifts so high in
the forests that it was most difficult to supply the
wigwams with game. He covered the river with ice so
thick that the Indians feared it would never melt. "When
will the Ice King leave us?" they asked each other. "We
shall all perish if he continues his cruel reign." At last
signs of spring encouraged the stricken people. The
great snowdrifts in the forests disappeared and the ice
on the river broke into large pieces. All of these floated
downstream except one huge cake which lodged on the
bank very near the village. And when the Indians saw
that the spring sunshine did not melt this great mass of
ice they were puzzled and anxious. "It is the roof of the
Ice King's lodge," they said. "We shall never enjoy
warm weather while he dwells near us. Have we no
brave who is willing to do battle with this winter
tyrant?"
At last, a courageous young hunter armed himself with
a huge club and went forth to see if he could shatter
the glittering frozen mass and rid the village of the
giant who dwelt beneath it. With all his strength he
struck the ice roof blow upon blow, crying out,
"Begone, O cruel Ice King! Your time is past! Begone!"
Finally, there was a deafening noise like the crashing of
forest trees when the lightning strikes, and the huge ice
cake split into several pieces. "Begone!" cried the
young brave, as he struggled with each great lump of
ice until he pushed it from the bank and tumbled it into
the river below. And when the mighty task was finished
the white figure of the Ice King stood before the Indian
brave. "You have ruined my lodge," said the giant. "The
winter season is past," answered the brave. "Begone!"
"After several moons I shall return to stay," threatened
the Ice King. Then he stalked away toward the North.
The people were very happy when they knew that the
young brave had conquered the giant; but their joy was
somewhat dampened when they heard about the
threatened return of the Ice King. "I shall prepare for
his return and do battle with him again," declared the
Indian conqueror. This promise comforted the people
somewhat, but still they thought of the coming winter
with dread.
During the autumn the hunter built near the river a
strong wigwam and stored therein abundant fuel and
dried game. He filled many bags made of skin, with oil,
which he procured from the animals he killed. Also, he
was well supplied with fur rugs, blankets, and warm
clothes. At last the winter season came. The cold north
wind blew unceasingly, the snow piled high around the
wigwams; ice several feet thick covered the river. "The
Ice King has come," said the Indians. "If he keeps his
threat to stay among us we shall surely perish." One
bitter cold day the young Indian who had prepared well
for the severe weather sat in his wigwam near a blazing
fire. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind tore aside the bear
skin which protected the doorway and into the lodge
stalked the Ice King. His freezing breath filled the place
and dampened the fire. He took a seat opposite the
Indian brave who said, "Welcome, Ice King." "I've come
to stay," answered the giant. The Indian shivered with
cold at the sudden change of temperature in his
wigwam, but he rose and brought more logs to the fire.
Also, he opened one of his bags of oil and poured the
contents on the great pieces of wood. The flames soon
caught the oil-soaked logs and a roaring fire crackled
and blazed in the wigwam. More and more fuel the
young brave piled on his fire until finally the frosty cold
air was changed to summer heat.
The Ice King shifted his seat away from the glowing
fire. Farther and farther away he pushed until he sat
with his back against the wall of the wigwam. As he
moved he seemed to grow smaller and weaker. The icy
feathers of his headgear drooped about his forehead
and great drops of sweat covered his face. But still the
Indian brave piled fuel on the blazing fire. "Spare me, O
hunter," cried the Ice King. But to the words of the
giant the young Indian was deaf. He opened another
bag of oil and poured it on the logs. "Have mercy, I beg
you!" pleaded the Ice King. He rose and staggered
toward the door. "You have conquered me," he said in
a weak voice. "I will depart. Twice you have won a
victory over me. I give up my hope of reigning
continually among your people. My season shall last
during three moons, only." He staggered out of the
wigwam and stalked wearily away. Since that day the
giant Ice King has not tried to reign throughout the
year.